Miranda felt as if she had whiplash. First she’d been fetched from the nondescript agency apartment she’d been staying in, driven to HOT HQ, and dropped at the gate. She’d endured security checks, fingerprinting, and eye scans. She’d been tag-teamed by a pair of colonels the likes of which were enough to make grown men cry.

And then she’d been thrown into a room—at her request, it was true—with a very tall, very hot, very angry SEAL. Just when she’d thought they might be making progress, another tall, hot, and not angry SEAL had come along and hauled them to a briefing room where she had to endure many eyes upon her as she walked in.

“We have the CIA with us today,” Mendez said. “This is Agent Jane Wood, and she’ll be accompanying us to Jorwani.”

There was a soft grumbling in the room, but Miranda kept her head up and refused to acknowledge it. She figured many—if not all of them—knew who she really was, but when you were undercover, you went by that identity all the time so there were no mistakes when it mattered most.

Introductions were quickly made. There were nine SEALs total—and nine other men who were introduced as Alpha Squad. There were also two women, which both surprised and fascinated her. So far as she knew, women weren’t yet allowed in the Special Ops. Oh, she’d seen the news of the female Rangers, like everyone had, and she’d cheered them on. But there were, what, three of them?

Rangers were badass as hell—but they weren’t the ultrasecret Hostile Operations Team. She’d have bet a kidney that she’d find no women here.

But here they were. A tawny blonde named Lucky with fine silver scars on both her arms, and a stunning redhead named Victoria. Miranda would need time to sort out all the men, but she wouldn’t forget the women’s names. Lucky smiled at her, but Victoria only arched a sculpted eyebrow. Miranda arched one back as if to say she didn’t give a fuck.

She didn’t much care what anyone thought of her, quite honestly—except Cody, dammit. She cared what he thought, and that annoyed her as much as it perplexed her.

Cody went over and flung himself into a seat like a moody teenager. Miranda let her gaze slide over the group and then went and took one of the only empty seats left.

Miranda settled in and waited for Colonel Mendez and Lieutenant Colonel Bishop to begin the briefing. Mendez looked over at someone and the lights went down. A slide show flickered to life on the giant screen against one wall.

There was a picture of Zain Okonjo, a brutal, conscienceless warlord who’d killed as many people as he’d liberated when he overthrew the government of Jorwani. He was laughing and pointing at the cheering crowd arrayed before him. It was an official video, of course, so it would not show him in a bad light.

“Zain Okonjo overthrew the government of Jorwani six months ago. Since then, his army has killed an estimated one hundred thousand Jorwani citizens using a combination of chemical weapons and automatic rifles. They’ve enslaved children, sold girls into sexual servitude, and threatened the region with instability. Unfortunately, Okonjo is not our target.”

There was a collective grumble in the room.

“The United Nations has enacted economic sanctions against the Okonjo government. The US is not sending in troops at this time.” Mendez paused while everyone considered that statement. “We have no forward bases in Jorwani. No support systems. There’s an unofficial group operating in the area. They’ll be our contact throughout the mission.”

“Ian Black, sir?” one of the men said.

Miranda listened with interest. She knew who Ian Black was. She’d heard the name before, from Mark and from Badger. Ian Black was former CIA, disavowed, a rogue of the worst sort. But apparently not a traitor—or not a dumb one, because he’d never been arrested.

“Yes, Black’s group is there and they have intel we’ll need on the ground. When you cross the border into Jorwani, you’ll be on your own. Okonjo’s government is still allowing aid organizations in, so that will be your cover. Our target—”

Here a picture of Victor Conti flashed onto the screen.

“—is Victor Conti, an Italian-American businessman with known ties to illegal weapons dealing, drugs, and human trafficking for purposes of sexual slavery. He is currently a guest of Mr. Okonjo, staying in his presidential palace.” Mendez turned back to the screen as a vast compound appeared. “We’re working on a schematic of the building now, as well as a report on Okonjo’s security. In five days’ time, Okonjo is scheduled to attend a summit in Kenya. The security for that trip is tight, and Okonjo’s schedule has been set for weeks. Victor Conti won’t be with him, which means the palace will be as vulnerable as it’ll ever get. That’s our opportunity.”

“How can we be sure, sir, that Conti won’t go with him?” This question came from a blond man who conjured up mental images from the movie Thor.

Mendez’s expression was sober. “As of 0800 this morning, Conti is wanted by Kenyan authorities for human trafficking and weapons smuggling within their borders. He won’t set foot into Kenya.” He turned back to the screen. “You’ll have to enter Jorwani in groups of four and five. Due to the nature of Jorwani cultural beliefs, the women will need to be married when they enter the country.”

Miranda glanced at Victoria since she was closest. A man sitting beside her laid his hand on her leg and squeezed. Well, okay then, not a problem for her. Probably not a problem for Lucky either. They knew these guys. She did not.

She purposely didn’t look at Cody, though she couldn’t imagine pretending to be a couple with anyone but him. Still, it was probably better if she was paired with someone else. Someone who didn’t make her pulse—and other parts of her—throb.

“Who’s pretending to be married to the CIA agent, sir?”

It was Cody’s voice, and Miranda’s belly tightened on cue.

Mendez raised a brow. “Whoever volunteers to do the job. Is that gonna be you, McCormick?”

His silence was telling.

“I’ll do it, sir,” a voice said. Miranda turned to see the SEAL who’d come to get her and Cody earlier. He was too pretty for words, but he didn’t make her pulse quicken the way Cody did.

“Good luck,” Cody muttered, and disappointment crashed through her.

“Then it’s settled. Cash is the lucky groom. Any other questions?” Mendez asked. No one said a word.

He spoke for several more minutes, clicking through slides as he did so, but all Miranda could think about was the fact she was about to enter a dangerous country with a man at her side—and not the man she preferred.

Dammit, when had her life gotten so complicated? Before she’d jabbed her gun into Cody’s side in the Venetian, she’d known exactly what she was doing and exactly what to expect. She’d wanted to get to the truth behind Mark’s death and take down Victor Conti. All she’d managed to do was get herself “killed” and watch Conti flee to Africa. She wasn’t any closer to what she wanted at all.

And now she was wound tight and worrying over the fact that a man she’d slept with, a man who’d gotten through her defenses and made her feel something other than anger and pain, didn’t want to pretend to be her husband on a mission. Really?

It was a low point in her life and career, that’s for sure.

“That’s everything,” Mendez said, snapping her attention back to him. He looked at his watch. “It’s five hours to go time. You know what to do. Dismissed.”

* * *

Cody folded himself into the van and put on his headphones. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. He didn’t know which van Miranda was in as they lurched forward, and he didn’t care. They were on their way to Joint Base Andrews where they would board a military transport headed for Germany. They had too much gear and too many people to get a commercial flight. But it was also faster because they could fly straight to Ramstein where they’d pick up another transport to the American base in Djibouti.

It was also more private, which he preferred. They were taking a C-5 Galaxy, which meant jump seats anchored into the cargo bay. There were no windows. No flight attendants. No beverage cart or screaming kids. There were boxed meals and drinks, and it was pretty much self-service.

There were also no assigned seats. That meant he could take a seat as far away from Miranda as possible. He didn’t want anything to do with her. Hell, if he thought about it hard enough, he could pretend that woman wasn’t Miranda Lockwood at all. Jane Wood had green eyes and shoulder-length red hair. Miranda had whiskey eyes and gold hair. Not the same woman.

When they arrived at the flight line on Andrews, everyone piled from the vans and dragged out their duffels and the rest of the gear. The jet was already warming the engines as Miranda emerged from a van with Money, who’d wasted no time getting cozy with her. She smiled at him, her arms folded beneath her breasts.

Cody saw red. Then she tilted her head back and laughed at something Money said—and a hot, possessive feeling blossomed in Cody’s soul. A feeling that said mine.

What the fuck?

He deliberately turned away and hefted an equipment bag, carrying it over to the pile waiting to be stowed on the plane. When he turned back, Money had leaned in to say something to Miranda. She laughed again, her head back, her throat exposed to the waning sunlight.

Dammit, he’d kissed that throat. Heard words issue from it that tightened his balls and made him lose whatever control he’d had. Damn, but fucking her had been sweet. So sweet.

He wanted to do it again. And again.

No. No way in hell. She was bad news. She’d gotten to him with her talk of growing up with an alcoholic mother, leaving home, and leaving everyone behind. Stripping to stay alive and then being saved by a CIA agent who became her mentor and friend.

Don’t forget he was her lover too.

A lover she was still so wound up about that she’d risked her life to find the person who’d had him killed. Cody figured that if Mark Reed had still been alive, Miranda wouldn’t have kept any secrets from him. No, she’d have told him she was about to fake her death so she could disappear.

Money did that thing where he pretended to tuck a stray lock of hair behind a woman’s ear. Before Cody knew what he was doing, he strode over to where Miranda smiled up at his teammate. She must have sensed him coming because she glanced in his direction—and her smile faded.

“This is a serious mission, for fuck’s sake,” he growled when he reached the two of them. “Not a pickup bar.”

Money gave him a look that said Oh yeah and What you gonna do about it, motherfucker?

“I think you’ve overstepped your authority to tell me what to do—which is precisely none, by the way,” Miranda said, sniffing in his general direction.

“It is if you’re going to act like a fucking teenager on a date,” Cody grated. “This is serious shit.”

“Hey, that’s my wife you’re talking to,” Money said, brows drawing down like he was spoiling for a fight.

Cody shook his head. Money wasn’t seriously pissed, and they both knew it. “Not yet, she’s not. Lay off until we get to Jorwani. You can get cuddly there.”

Miranda crossed her arms and glared at him. Her eyes sparked fire.

Money didn’t seem to notice. “If you don’t like the way I’m doing it, you shack up with her for the mission.”

Cody stared hard at Miranda. She stared right back, never backing down for a second. And Jesus, his groin started to tighten, the familiar tingle at the base of his spine indicating where the blood was starting to go. A whirlwind of emotions gathered strength in his gut. If he let them out, if he faced them— No, not going there. He was pissed. Nothing more.

And he didn’t care what she did. Or who she did it with.

“Nope. She’s yours, man. Happy anniversary and all that shit.”

He turned and strode away, back to the equipment they were starting to load on the massive plane. The nose assembly was up for cargo loading, and he grabbed two huge bags and walked up the ramp. He stowed them with the others and then went to find a seat, nodding at the loadmaster as he passed. There were several rows, five across, and seats also lined the walls. The center seats could be anchored in or taken out, depending on how many troops they were moving, and they faced rear, which was weird the first few times you did it. The load today was mostly cargo, with HOT and maybe a few Space-A fliers. There was another passenger compartment at the rear of the plane, but that one was much noisier than up here—colder too. If there were seats forward, then Cody always took them.

His teammates piled in and found seats. The engines spooled up a little bit louder now, and Cody popped his headphones on again. He looked up as Money and Miranda walked by and sat in the row in front of him. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but her scent stole to him, wrapped around his senses. She smelled fresh and clean, like a flowery shampoo. It wasn’t overpowering, but it was too close. He started to get up and move but stubbornly decided to stay right where he was. He wasn’t letting her chase him away.

Cody opened his eyes as someone flopped down beside him. It was Remy Marchand.

“Hey, man, you look pissed off.”

“Just tired.”

“No, pissed. And still a little bit hungover, yeah?”

Cody tried not to think about the slight throb in his temples. “Nah, not too bad.”

“You realize Money’s just trying to get your goat, dude.” He glanced around the room as if seeing who was close enough to listen and then back to Cody. “He doesn’t know it for sure—only Viking and I do—but I’m pretty sure he suspects she’s the girl you were helping in the desert based on your reactions to her. And we all know how fucked up everything got out there. You haven’t been the same since it happened. Money’s trying to shake you loose.”

Cody wanted to growl. “What do you expect? A woman I promised to help got killed and I couldn’t stop it. Except she didn’t get killed. Here she fucking is—and she’s laughing at Money’s jokes like he’s goddamn Robin Williams reincarnated.”

Cage’s mouth twisted into a grin. “Well, he can be pretty funny sometimes—but today he’s yanking your chain. Because you want to be the one sitting up there with her. You just don’t want to admit it.”

A wave of anger swelled in his belly. Why did everyone think he gave two shits about Miranda Lockwood or Jane Wood or whoever the fuck she was pretending to be today? He was done caring. He knew what happened when he did, and it hadn’t been pretty.

“No, I really fucking don’t.”

Cage shrugged. The loadmaster stopped and instructed him to put on his seatbelt. “Yeah, sorry, got it,” Cage said, clipping it in place. He whipped out his phone and started punching buttons. “Did I show you the picture of Elvis serenading me and Christina at the wedding?”

Cody sank deeper into his seat like a turtle trying to pull his head in. It was going to be a long-ass flight. “Yeah, I believe you did. Not to mention I was actually there for the wedding.”

“Then look at this one of the honeymoon.”

Cody frowned. “You sure about that, dude?”

Cage rolled his eyes. “Not the actual honeymoon, you moron. The hotel. The food.”

The engines began to whine, and the plane started its lumbering progress down the taxiway. Only a million more hours of being confined in this tin can and smelling Miranda’s shampoo. Yay.