Jake mindlessly flipped through channels on the TV. He tapped at the volume, lowering it to barely audible. Almost any noise was like a banshee howling in his ears.

He stopped scrolling when he came across a news station, then set the remote next to him, happy to simply read the headlines at the bottom of the screen, opposed to hearing them.

But Jake’s attention diverted to the tall, broad-shouldered man who was now filling the doorframe to his room. The man’s sharp blue eyes steadied on Jake with disbelief as his brows pulled together.

He looked government, that was for sure. Well, at least as far as Jake could tell—he drew his comparisons from TV and movies, and his father’s military pals. From what Jake knew, this guy screamed military badass. He was all hard planes—his facial expressions seemed carved from granite, his jaw was probably so tough he had to use a switch blade to shave. There was a grit to him, a roughness. Yet, he was cloaked in a perfectly tailored black suit that matched the sense of danger his presence radiated. The man cleared his throat and brought a hand to the nape of his neck, where his black hair brushed against the collar of his dark dress shirt.

“Who are you?” Jake finally asked, and the man took a step into the room. He shut the door behind him, but not before Jake caught sight of Trent standing with arms crossed, observing through the window from outside the room.

The man fidgeted with the knot on his tie—it was black atop a black shirt. Was he going to a funeral? He cleared his throat, yet again. Either he was sick or nervous, although that didn’t really fit. This guy didn’t look like he ever got nervous.

The man came to the bed, his eyes assessing Jake. He folded one arm across his chest and rested the elbow of the other against it, tapping his fingers against his lips. There was a thick titanium wedding band there.

Jake’s eyes snapped shut as a sharp pain tore through his skull, followed by the image of this man holding a ring box. “You think you could hang on to this for me until the vows?”

“Shit.” Jake shook his head and swallowed as his stomach became unsettled. “I’m gonna be sick.” He grabbed the plastic bowl at his side as his stomach tucked in, convulsing. Tremors raked over his spine as his skin pebbled with perspiration. His jaw opened wide, but only spit dribbled down as his body shook. Jesus Christ.

“You okay?” The man’s eyes grew dark, and his arms dropped like weighted anchors at his sides.

Jake’s throat burned, and his chest grew tight. He pushed the plastic bowl aside and jabbed at the nurse call button. Maybe the red-head was still there.

But it was Lisa’s voice that resounded through the speaker above Jake’s bed. “Can I help you?”

“I need you.”

“Here.” The man reached for the tray table by the bed and offered him the cup of water that sat there.

“Thanks.”

“I’m Michael Maddox,” he said at last.

Lisa opened the door and arrived at his bedside before Jake could decide how to respond. She glanced at Michael and tossed him a nervous smile. “What can I do for you?” She looked over at Jake and angled her head, compassion shining in her eyes.

“Got any anti-nausea meds you can pump in me?”

She frowned in apology at his pain. “Yes, sir. The doctor has meds on standby if you ever asked for them. I’ll be back.”

Jake rubbed his stomach and tried to sit up a little so he could concentrate on whatever news this Michael character had arrived to deliver.

“It’s so good to see you alive.”

So, you know I was in an explosion. “Are you FBI, too?” Jake released an exaggerated sigh. He must be, right? That tightwad, Trent, wouldn’t let just anyone in his room. Maybe he was a general. Although this guy looked like a soldier in a suit, too young for general status.

“Hell, no. That’s your department.” Michael scratched the side of his head as if he wasn’t sure what else to say. “I, uh, just found out that you have amnesia right before I came in here. Seeing you alive was a shocker—an amazing one—but then . . . shit, I’m so sorry. This must all be awful for you. But I’m going to find out who did this to you, I promise. The SOBs will pay.”

Jake barely heard what Michael said. Instead, he sputtered, “We must be close if I was in your wedding.”

Michael’s mouth went round as his eyes widened. “You remember? I thought—”

“Not quite. I had a flash of memory—you were asking me to hold on to some rings.” Jake shrugged, which was a bad idea. It brought about a pain like being needled in the ribs with a hot poker. “That’s all I got.”

“Oh. That’s something, anyway. Maybe the rest of your memories will come back soon.” The man’s voice was low and strained, and Jake wondered what emotions he was tucking away beneath his steely surface. Had the man ever shown an emotion in his life? Did he know how to laugh? Jake couldn’t fathom how he might have become friends with someone who was so aloof.

“Every time a memory tries to resurface, it makes me dizzy and nauseous. I think I need a damn break from memory lane.” He blew out a breath.

“Sorry . . . I had to come as soon as I found out about the explosion and—”

“What is it that you do?” Jake couldn’t help but interrupt. His mind was spinning as he tried to make sense of the stranger—who wasn’t really a stranger—standing before him.

It was all so damn odd.

Michael smiled and shook his head. Well, at least the man was capable of a smile. “I do a little bit of everything.”

Well, that wasn’t entirely helpful. “You have any clue what I’m doing in London, at least?”

“Honestly, no. You’re one of the leading specialists on counterterrorism in the U.S., though. You head up the unit in Dallas.”

Jake was beginning to miss football. A concussion sounded much easier to deal with. “How the hell did I end up in counterterrorism?” Oh, God. He started to shake, and his core squeezed.

He grabbed the bowl and shoved it up to his face, but he knew his empty stomach would produce nothing. “Fuck,” he yelled, just as the nurse entered. He blinked away whatever memories tried to resurface. He couldn’t deal with them right now.

“Oh no. Again?” Lisa was at his side, prepping a vial. “This will help.” She inserted a substance into the IV. “This should also calm you a little.”

“Calm me?” Jake looked up from the pink plastic bowl. “What’d you give me?” His eyelids flickered shut a few times as his head grew light and everything became a little fuzzy. “I didn’t want that shit.”

“You said no pain meds, but this is for anxiety.”

“You think I’d want that?” he mumbled before resting his head on the pillow. The medication felt good, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. It helped ease the tension in his body.

“Sorry.” As she disappeared from the room, he regretted yelling at her. It wasn’t her fault.

Michael faced Jake again with a darkness in his eyes, a shield of armor protecting him from whatever emotions he didn’t want to reveal. But Jake didn’t have that luxury—everything was new to him. His memories cascaded to mind without his permission, absorbing him as though they were happening for the first time.

“I don’t want to bombard you with too much right now. I’m just so damn thankful you’re alive. And I promise that I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“Maybe I want to disappear back in time and forget the last twelve years.” Jake shut his eyes, hating how pathetic he sounded.

“Get some rest—you need time to process all of this.” Michael placed a hand over his heart. “Hell, so do I.” His voice wavered a little as he spoke.

Jake forced his eyes open, and Michael averted his attention to the floor. “Listen, Jake. You may not remember, but you’re like a brother to me. You saved me more times than I can count.”

What did I save you from, if you’re not an agent?

“The guys always joke that I’m the glue that keeps us together, but that’s just not true.”

What guys?

“You’re the heart of us all, and without you . . . well, shit, we need you. And I’m not gonna give up on you. None of us will.”

Maybe the man wasn’t cold hearted, after all.

Michael moved to the door and glanced over his shoulder at Jake before nodding goodbye.

Jake pressed his hands to his face. But there was no time to process his emotions. The sound of shoes smacking against tile came nearer.

“He shouldn’t have come here. The fact that he figured out your location means we need to scramble out of here faster than I’d like.” Trent was standing by the bed, arms folded.

“That’s fine with me. I’m itching to get back home.”

“You think you’re going home? Hell, do you even know where home is?” Trent shook his head.

Thank you for rubbing that in my damn face. “And where am I supposed to go?”

“Somewhere safe,” Trent grumbled. “We should probably get out of here tonight or by tomorrow, at the latest. You think you’re up for a flight?”

No. But he wasn’t going to admit it. “I’ll be fine,” he said as the news station grabbed his attention.

He scrambled for the remote at his side and increased the volume.

“Still no updates on the explosion at the old abandoned textile mill just outside of London. Most certainly, American authorities will be investigating the matter in conjunction with the London PD, given the tragic death of the American at the mill. The American, whose name has yet to be relinquished, died during surgery at the hospital following the explosion. Our thoughts and prayers are with his family back in the United States.”

Died during surgery?

The female reporter’s words had the hairs on Jake’s arms standing. “We’re going live to footage now from our chopper—it looks as though the London PD is investigating a small cabin about two kilometers from the location of the blast.”

There was an aerial view of a home surrounded by police cars and flashing lights, as well as vans and other news reporter vehicles. “It appears they brought in SOCO—scenes of crime officers—so we have to assume the London PD have found something in conjunction with the explosion.”

“Fuck me.” Trent reached into his pocket and grabbed a cell phone.

“You can say that again. Do people think I’m dead?” Jake tried to sit up in his bed, and his mind reeled once again. No wonder that Michael guy had looked like he’d seen a ghost.

Trent lowered the phone in front of him for a moment while directing his attention to Jake. “As soon as we positively identified it was you, we requested the cover story about your death, and we asked for you to be moved into isolation.”

“Does my family think I’m dead?”

“Your name hasn’t been released, and we haven’t told anyone you’re even here. So, no. No one other than the bastards who did this to you think you’re dead. Michael’s got government contacts—that’s how he found out you were here.”

“Oh.” He wasn’t sure how he felt about this. Why did people need to think he had died?

“But this is why we can’t have you going back home to Dallas. We need whoever held you captive thinking you’re six feet under. I don’t want them coming after you again.”