“Easy, baby,” Victor Conti said as Miranda slipped the sash around his neck playfully. She smiled when she did it, rubbed her breasts against his chest, and tried not to vomit at the evidence of his arousal. His hands slipped to her waist, his fingers skimming her bare midriff, and it was everything she could do not to knee him in the balls just yet.

“Take off everything but your panties,” Victor told her. His grip on her tightened as she tried to step out of his embrace. She met his eyes, forced herself not to look as disgusted as she felt. And then he glided his hands up and grasped the edge of her top. She had a choice now. She could let him slide it over her head or she could stop him.

“This, off,” he said, raising his voice in that way people did when they thought speaking louder would help someone who didn’t understand the language magically comprehend what they were saying. “And this,” he continued, sliding a finger to the waistband of her skirt.

She smiled as if she understood what he meant. She took a step back, both ends of the sash still in her hand. She could jerk him forward with that, knock him off-balance while aiming a knee at his head. She’d grab the back of his skull and slam him into her knee. If it didn’t knock him out, it would certainly disorient him long enough for her to restrain him.

She tightened her grip on the sash—and there was a sudden rap on the door. It made her jump, and Victor swore. He jerked the sash from her hands and whipped it around his waist, tying the robe closed again.

Goddammit, she’d lost her advantage.

“This had better be good,” he barked.

Miranda sashayed toward the bed, scoping out the room while Victor was occupied. The door opened and someone came in. She didn’t look at him as she let her gaze slide over the room. Looking for possible weapons.

“We’ve got a potential problem,” a voice began, and Miranda’s insides turned to liquid. She spun before she could think about what she was doing, her gaze landing on the man who’d come into the room and stood there talking to Victor Conti.

Mark?

“We found water on the deck,” he said.

“So?”

“Well, it hasn’t rained,” the man who could not be Mark Reed, but most certainly was, said. “And the only water is below us.”

“Intruders? From the water?” Conti seemed genuinely confused.

Miranda was more so. How could Mark be standing here? How could he be alive and how could he be working with Victor Conti? Or was he working with Conti? Maybe he was on assignment too—

No, it wouldn’t go down like that. Would it?

“Special Operators, Victor. A military team.”

“Jesus Christ,” Conti swore. “What about the fucking cargo? They want it, don’t they?”

“Probably.” Mark’s gaze suddenly swung to her, and she realized she’d been moving toward his voice the whole time. Trying to get a better look. Trying to explain what her eyes said was true but her heart insisted could not be.

His brows drew down as he studied her. And then, before she could react, he whipped his gun from its holster and aimed it at her.

“Not another step,” he growled.

“How?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Wait just a fucking minute,” Victor demanded. “You speak English? Who the hell are you?”

“She’s CIA. You’ve met her before—though she’s supposed to be fucking dead.”

Victor’s head swung her way.

“Say hello, Miranda,” Mark said. “And then you’re going to have to tell me precisely how many operators there are and what the plan is.”

Her entire body shook, but not from fear. From fury. She clenched her fists at her sides and wished like hell she could wrap her hands around his throat. Her eyes stung with tears, and her heart— Oh, her heart hurt like it had never hurt before. Which pissed her off even more because she knew, didn’t she, just how treacherous people could be? She’d learned in four years at the CIA that nothing was ever quite what it seemed.

“I mourned you,” she said, ignoring his command to say hello. “I loved you, admired you—and you did this? Why? Why are you here with—with this asshole?”

Victor growled and took a step toward her.

“Not yet,” Mark grated. “We need her. She could be our ticket out of here.” To her he said, “I guess we’re both good at faking death. And whether you believe it or not, I was sorry you died.”

Miranda laughed. It was a bitter sound. He hadn’t really answered her, though she hadn’t expected him to. “You aren’t getting out of here, Mark. There are two teams—TWO—coming for you. They aren’t going to quit, and they aren’t backing down.”

It didn’t matter if she said it. He already knew she wasn’t here alone. And maybe knowing there were two teams would give him pause. That was a lot of Special Operators, each and every one a deadly killing machine.

He cocked the pistol then, but she didn’t flinch. Then he swore and dropped it to his side. He couldn’t kill her, not yet, and they both knew it.

“Shoot her!” Victor shouted. “What the fuck are you waiting for?”

“If she’s alive, we have a chance. Dead, they’ll fucking kill us both.”

Victor subsided, but he didn’t look happy about it.

“Do you want to know who’s coming?” she asked, feeling like she was sitting on a stick of dynamite that was about to explode. The adrenaline and fury pumping through her was potent. She felt like she could do anything—anything. But she was also smart enough to realize that she couldn’t—or not yet anyway. But she could stall him.

Take your time. Keep talking. Wait for Cody.

Cody. Why did she think of Cody instead of HOT? It hit her that she thought of him because she had utter faith he would come and help her. He wouldn’t let her down, not like everyone else in her life had—not like Mark clearly had. He would come and he would help her make this right.

“I imagine it’s SEAL Team Six,” Mark said. “Or Delta.” He sounded bored.

Which meant she took great delight in telling him the truth. “Wrong. It’s HOT.”

He seemed to stiffen for a second. “Fucking hell.” Then his eyes narrowed. “Are you wearing a device?”

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

“Search me if you want. You won’t find anything because there is nothing.”

The bio-tracker was invisible, a thin slice of clear film that contained a transmitter and adhered to her skin. The transmitter was good for twenty-four hours, at which point it faded away.

“She was searched,” Victor said. “Before she was brought in. There’s nothing on her.”

Mark lifted his head as if he were listening for something. Miranda strained to hear anything other than the sounds of the ship, but there was nothing.

He lifted the gun again, pointing it at her. “We’re getting out of here. Now.”

* * *

“Juliet Whiskey is on the move.”

Cody’s gut twisted. “Where the fuck is she going?” he asked before anyone else could.

“Can’t quite tell yet,” Blade said. “Away from us though.”

Viking spoke into his mic. “Brandy, did you copy?”

“Copy,” Brandy said. “Nothing topside yet. We’ll let you know.”

“Thanks. Viking out. Richie, you any closer to that cargo?” he asked the Alpha Squad commander.

“About to blow the door,” came the reply. “You need time?”

“Yeah. Ten mikes should do it.”

“Copy. Ten mikes until we blow the door. Richie out.”

Fucking hell. Ten minutes to find Miranda and stop Conti—and a whole lot of passageway left to navigate.

“We gotta move faster,” Cody said.

Viking blew out a breath. “Yeah. But we can’t fuck up and let them know we’re coming either.”

They fanned out and continued through the passageways, searching for trip wires and locked doors. But everything was clear. It didn’t take an especially large staff to run a ship of this size, which was also good for them so long as they steered clear of the crew areas. Still, if they ran across anyone, they’d restrain them. Most of these people were hired sailors doing a job. There was no need to kill unless threatened.

“She’s moving topside,” Blade said.

“Fucking hell, there’s a helicopter coming in for a landing.” It was Brandy’s voice over the mic. “Do you copy?”

“Viking copies.”

“Richie copies.”

Cody started moving toward the stairs as fast as he could go while still maintaining the perimeter.

“Disable the bird. Repeat, disable the bird.” It was Richie’s voice giving the order to shoot the helicopter. But Cody wasn’t taking a chance. Neither was his team. They were all with him, ghosting through the ship and up the flights of stairs that would take them back to the top.

“Blowing the door, Viking,” Richie said.

“Roger that,” Viking replied.

It didn’t matter if there was noise now. Conti was attempting to escape and taking Miranda with him. Cody swore under his breath even while he prayed she was okay. She had to be okay because she was moving—but son of a bitch he’d been right that Conti might figure out she was the same woman who’d come after him in Vegas.

He had to get to her before Conti did something. Cody bounded up the last few steps and stopped to listen. He could hear the helicopter’s rotor beating the air—and then there was a ping and a whine and the motor sputtered.

“It’s a hit,” Brandy said over the mic.

Cody and Money went first, kicking the door open and clearing the area in front of them. The rest of the team followed. They moved across the deck toward the helicopter pad, guns aiming at the wounded bird and the people standing beside it.

A man threw his arm around Miranda and hauled her back against him, the barrel of his pistol wedged against her temple. Cody’s blood turned to ice, but he didn’t stop moving until he was there on the pad, gun aimed at the man’s head.

There was another man on the pad. Victor Conti was wearing a robe that gaped open to reveal black briefs. He brandished a pistol as if he believed it would stop them, but there was no way he was a threat. The dude with Miranda was the threat.

Conti didn’t have the pistol for long. Cody was aware of Money closing in—and then he was on top of Conti, disarming him and binding his wrists behind his back while Conti screamed insults and death threats.

“Shut the fuck up, asshole,” Money shouted above the noise of the helicopter and the screams of Conti.

The dude holding Miranda backed them against the helicopter and waited for the attack. Every instinct Cody had told him to take the shot and eliminate this asshole. It was a shot any one of them could take blindfolded—but he didn’t squeeze the trigger just yet. What if this guy was someone of value? Someone high up in Conti’s organization they could use in a game of prisoner’s dilemma?

Tell this dude that Conti had blamed him for everything and maybe he’d turn on his boss. It was a classic maneuver and one that worked more often than not.

The helicopter’s motor sputtered and whined before dying suddenly. The rotors still whipped the air, but they were slowing.

“You can’t win this one,” Cody said to the man. “Best to put down the weapon and let her go.”

“Not happening, Cody McCormick,” the man said, and Cody stiffened involuntarily. How the fuck did this guy know his name?

He heard Camel growl something under his breath.

Miranda’s head was tilted back, the column of her throat exposed above where the man had an arm around her collarbone. She didn’t look scared at all, which freaked him out just a little bit. Yeah, he knew she was an agent—but he expected more emotion out of her. Instead, she looked calm. A cold finger of dread tickled his spine as he remembered where he’d last seen her look so calm in the face of danger. That day in the desert. Right before she’d walked out in front of the truck and faked her own death.

“Jane,” he growled at her, reminding himself to use her false identity. “What the fuck is going on here? Who is this guy?”

* * *

Miranda gazed at Cody in his sexy wetsuit, rifle slung over his chest and currently aimed in her direction, and felt numb. Mark’s arm around her was tight. The gun at her temple was no longer cool to the touch, but warm where it made contact with her skin.

“Cody, meet Mark Reed.” She spat his name. “Mentor, friend, ex-lover—traitor.”

Mark’s grip tightened for a second. When he spoke, his voice was pitched low so that only she could hear him. “I tried to keep you away from it all, but you wouldn’t fucking stop searching for answers. I told Badger that sending you to infiltrate Conti’s operations was a suicide mission—but it was out of my hands by then.”

“I don’t believe you,” she spat. “Badger isn’t involved in this.”

“Who do you think told the agency you were dangerous? Obsessed with Conti? It couldn’t have been me. I don’t work there anymore.”

His words were like poison darts landing in her ears—the truth of them pierced her and sank deep. Badger had betrayed her too. Badger, whom she’d always thought was her friend. But then she’d thought Mark was her friend, and look how that turned out.

Anger boiled in her veins. She was pissed and hurt and trembling with fury. It was almost too much to bear. Her two closest friends, if you could have called them that, in the agency—and they’d wanted to eliminate her. She’d been doing her job, nothing more—and they had sold out. For what?

Money, no doubt. It made her sick to think of it.

“You aren’t getting out of this alive, Reed,” Cody called out, and she could hear the utter fury in his voice. He sounded harder and harsher than she’d ever heard him. “I’ll drop you if you force me to. Let her go and you can live.”

Mark ducked his head behind hers, eliminating himself as a target. “How good are you, Cody? Think you can kill me before I kill her?”

Miranda closed her eyes, her heart heavy. She lived in a world of lies and deceit because that’s what she had to do for the job. She knew there was no black and white, that everything was shades of gray—but she’d thought she’d known Mark and Badger. She thought she’d known what they were fighting for.

Turns out she hadn’t known a thing. Mark had never cared for her the way she’d cared for him. He’d never cared about the things she cared about—or the things these dark and dangerous HOT men and women cared about.

When she’d gone after Conti, she’d wanted to honor Mark’s memory and his fight for everything right. What a sham.

She didn’t feel obligated to him anymore. The loyalty she’d once had was gone. Mark was a liar and a traitor. The worst kind of user. He was as selfish and useless as her parents. He’d been kind to her for his own purposes, no other reason. Certainly not because he was a decent human being.

“You tried to recruit me,” she said as the truth hit her. “A year ago.”

He snorted. “You just now figured that out?”

He’d been deep in the Conti operation then. It was one of the rare times when he’d met her to pass information. He’d looked so self-assured that day. And he’d asked her when he’d sat beside her at the bar if she’d ever just wanted to run away from it all. Start over and do something different. She’d shaken her head and sipped her club soda. “Do what? There’s nothing as important as what I’m already doing.”

He’d slipped the packet into her open computer bag and given her a weary smile. “I thought you might say that. Hasta la vista, baby.”

He’d walked out, and she hadn’t seen him again before the bombing that allegedly took his life.

Miranda knew what she had to do now—because she wasn’t letting him kill her, and she wasn’t letting him get away. Maybe Mark would anticipate her, but she had to take the chance anyway. Miranda fixed her gaze on Cody, rolling her eyes back toward Mark. Cody’s brows lowered a fraction. She didn’t know if that meant he understood or if he was telling her no.

But it didn’t matter because she wasn’t waiting another moment.

Mark’s grip had loosened since he couldn’t hold her as tightly when he had to stoop to hide his head behind hers. The maneuver had put distance between them. Not a lot, but enough.

It was now or never. She threw herself into action. She spun in his grip, grabbing his gun hand and shoving it away while dropping so she could remove her head from the target zone. He pulled the trigger and she felt the recoil of the weapon near her head. The bullet whistled past her ear as the blast deafened her.

She lunged for the gun but Mark dropped to the tarmac, taking her with him in a tangle. She landed beside him, her ears ringing as she grabbed for the weapon that had clattered from his grip. But there was no need. His gaze was empty, glassy, and there were two neat holes in his forehead—a double tap. She glanced up at the blood and brains spattering the helicopter’s side and knew the back of his head did not look so neat.

Mark was dead. Really, truly dead this time. After everything that had happened, she didn’t expect that to affect her—but it did. She felt a sob welling in her chest—and then she was dragged up and into a man’s arms.

Cody had dropped to a sitting position on the tarmac beside her and held her tightly, his body smelling like saltwater and sweat and spent ammunition. She wrapped her arms around him and held on, letting the angry, despairing tears she’d been holding in flow down her cheeks. She was not a crier, dammit, but she couldn’t seem to help it this time.

Her ears were still ringing, and she couldn’t hear a thing Cody said, but she knew he was speaking because she could feel his lips moving against her ear.

She turned her head so she didn’t have to look at Mark’s lifeless body. One of the SEALs came over and said something to Cody. A moment later he was standing and lifting her with him. It took her a moment to realize he intended to carry her off the ship.

“I can walk,” she protested.

“No.” She couldn’t hear the word, but she recognized it when it formed on his lips. She could have fought him—but she was tired of fighting. Tired of throwing herself at a wall and getting nowhere.

Miranda laid her cheek against his chest and let him carry her off the ship and away from this nightmare.