“I still don’t remember anything—well, other than being tortured that one time, but I already told you about that.” Jake shut his eyes for a moment, wishing he could rest. Ever since Trent had transferred him to the Royal Air Force Station in Lakenheath, Suffolk, he’d been hounded by more American government-types than he could count.

He was in a medical bed in the Liberty Wing, which hosted the United States Air Force. His forearms flexed as he clenched his hands into fists, attempting to squeeze out his frustration from the recent rapid firing round of questions he’d endured from another federal agent.

“They got a match,” someone called from outside the room.

Trent glanced over his shoulder at the sound of the voice. He’d been sitting at Jake’s bedside next to the other FBI agent—or maybe he was CIA. Jake couldn’t be sure.

“It’s Jake’s blood—he was there,” the voice added a beat later.

“So, I was definitely being held in that cabin in the woods?” Jake asked. “How’d I get away?” He tried to sit up, but he couldn’t quite manage it, so he relaxed back down, his head sinking into the feathery soft pillow.

A man in military fatigues and a hunter green tee entered the room. His dark brown eyes focused on Trent as he approached the bed. “Other than those few drops of blood they found, the British didn’t find anything useful at that cabin.”

“And I didn’t notice anything when I was there yesterday,” Trent added. “I didn’t expect we’d find much. Whoever had you, well, they were professionals.”

“Probably ISIS,” the military guy added.

“ISIS? What or who is that?” Jake’s brows pinched together, and the guy in fatigues glared at Jake before his brows lifted.

“Shit. Sorry, I forgot. It’s a terrorist group. They’re our worst nightmare. Attacking us from all over,” Trent said as Mr. Military and the other Fed who’d been at his bedside, left the room.

“So. Now what?” Jake asked after a minute.

“Well, I’d like to get you back to our field office in D.C. We have agents here working, and they’ll hopefully get something out of the tight-lipped British.” Trent rose to his feet and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “In the meantime, we need you to get your damn memories back.”

Jake dragged his hands down his face, a tinge of annoyance seeping into his bones. “I’m doing my best to remember, but I don’t think going to D.C. is going to help.”

“What will help?” Trent barked out, but a moment later he bowed his head in apology. When he looked up again, he raised both hands, palms up. “Sorry, I know this can’t be easy. But you might be the only one who can help us.”

“Help you do what?”

“Stop a terrorist attack.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Jake placed his hands at his sides and forced himself upright in the bed, ignoring the pain that zipped down his spine and the tenderness of his back where he’d been whipped. “Do you know for sure there’ll even be an attack? You said earlier the British barely said anything to you, and—”

“And they didn’t have to. Whoever had you was planning something.”

“What? Killing an FBI agent isn’t big enough?” Jake shrugged and rolled his eyes. “You have to stop thinking of me as some Fed. I’m not that man. Hell, I don’t know who I am anymore, but I do know that this is way too much. I need space. I need—home. I need my family.”

Trent pinched the bridge of his nose, a low whistle escaping his lips. “You think being around your family will help you remember . . .?”

Jake thought for a minute. “Yes,” he finally said. “Can you make it happen?”

“Shit, Jake. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Sir.” Jake looked over at the door, where another man in military attire stood, his hands behind his back in respect for Trent.

Trent looked over at him. “Yes?”

“There are two agents here from MI6 demanding to see Agent Summers. They have the proper clearance, and they have been approved to enter.”

“Jesus. I was hoping to hold them off a little longer, but now that MI6 is involved . . . shit.”

“What’s to hide from them? I don’t know anything. And even if I did, why wouldn’t we want to help them?” Jake leaned back against his pillow once again, feeling a little hopeful for the first time as he thought of going back to the U.S. and seeing his family.

“It’s not so simple. The operation you were on before your abduction is highly classified, and I still don’t have the authority to share the OP with the British,” Trent explained. He pushed his blazer back, placing his hands near his dark belt on each side of his hips.

“And whose authority do you need?” Jake asked, curiosity beginning to swell inside of him.

“The President of the United States.”

Oh.

“Sir?” The soldier at the door took a step closer, his hands falling to his sides.

Trent flicked his wrist in the air and shook his head. “Let them in.”

The soldier left the doorway and returned a minute later with two men. They were both dressed in sharp gray suits with black ties.

“I’m Matt. And this is Xander.” They were keeping it informal, apparently. No agent titles or last names. It actually made Jake feel better.

The two men nodded thanks to the American soldier, who then left the room. They moved with slow steps toward Trent, and Matt reached for his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“We don’t have any updates. I’m not sure why you’re here,” Trent said after shaking Xander’s hand.

Jake wanted to shut his eyes and make everyone in the room disappear. He wasn’t interested in hearing any more about the case—well, so he told himself—but there was a twitch of excitement in his core about being in the presence of two MI6 agents. He wondered if the two agents had any spy gadgets on them from the famous Q branch—or if had come to the base in a BMW equipped for battle.

He was still Jake, the dreamer, the guy who was in love with action movies. Not a real-life hero. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the idea of belonging to this world.

“We need to talk to you about Italy.” There was a slight tick in Matt’s jaw as he looked over at Trent. Well, it was more like he was staring him down. Even though the Brit looked about the same age as Jake and years younger than Trent—he faced Trent with a confidence that displayed no sense of inferiority.

“What about Italy?” Trent’s lips tightened as he crossed his arms, echoing Matt’s posture.

The three men were standing a few feet away from Jake’s bed, but Jake could feel the blast of testosterone and heat smoking within them. Who’d break first?

“We believe a case we’ve been working on is connected to the explosion,” Xander said.

Matt began talking next, but his voice was nothing but scratchy white noise as a blinding pain shot through Jake’s skull.

Black boots kicking at sand.

Scorching heat.

Something heavy on his back.

Loud popping sounds all around him.

Jake leaned forward, holding his stomach, ignoring the pain that roared in his back. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Trent was immediately at his side, his hand resting on his shoulder.

“Was I in the military?” Jake took in a few calming breaths, trying to suppress the nausea.

“This is good. You’re remembering something?” Trent asked.

“Answer the question.” Jake opened his eyes.

“Yes. You were a Marine. Special Forces.”

“Special Forces? Are you kidding me?” He grabbed the cup of water on the table next to his bed and swallowed the cool liquid. “Why didn’t you tell me? Jesus, Trent. FBI was a far stretch . . . but a Marine?” It’s a long way off from what I went to school for.

“I didn’t want to overwhelm you with too much information.”

“Oh, sure. But you’re pushing me to remember what happened before the explosion.” Jake crumpled the plastic cup in his hand, irritation billowing through him like smoke.

“You okay, mate?” Xander stepped closer to the bed.

Jake didn’t respond as he stared at the crunched cup in his hand.

“He’s not up for questions right now.” Trent’s voice had Jake flickering his attention back up. Right now, he could hug the big man.

“And since, at the moment, you’re on American territory, I’ll kindly ask you to leave. And if not, I’m sure I can have someone show you the way out.” Trent cocked his head to the right, not backing down.

“The longer you hold out on us, the greater chance that someone will die,” Matt said in a low, haunting voice.

“Then give me five damn seconds to think, so I can remember what the hell happened.” Jake was on the verge of snapping. He’d had too many people coming at him, needing him to be the savior—and all he wanted was to shut his eyes and go back to the days when losing a football game was the worst of his problems.

“You may not be able to help us right now, but you know something, don’t you?” Matt faced Trent.

“And I told Secret Service that I don’t have the authority to share anything yet. But, of course, you can tell me about your case . . .” When neither of the MI6 agents spoke, Trent’s words floated from his lips, hugged by puffs of air, “Didn’t think so.”

“Just get the authority so we can talk. Or we’ll find out whatever it is that you’re hiding. And believe me—that won’t be the best of the two options for you,” Matt said, his brown eyes holding Trent’s. Then both agents turned and walked away.

“Fucking spooks,” Trent said once they were gone.

Jake shut his eyes and bowed his head forward. “I can’t be responsible for people dying. To know I can save people, and I—” I’m not twenty-two. I’m thirty-four. I was a Marine. I’m a Goddamn FBI agent! Get it together! And yet, his body protested with pain that seared his insides, the lashings on his back a reminder that he was weak right now.

As much as he didn’t want to be the man he’d become, Jake was beginning to realize that he didn’t have much of a choice. People could die, and his memories could save them.

“What if I can’t help?”

Trent looked him square in the eyes. “You will.”

“But how do you know?”

“Because you always come through.”